You & Me, We've Got Our Own Sense of Time
by yourealoverimarunner
Summary: a collection of drabbles based on an au of mindy & danny, where they grow up together. it's teenage!danny & mindy. i don't know where i'll cap this at, but if you have ideas that you'd like to see in this collection, let me know & i'll try to fulfill them. ) while some details may float from one fic to another, none of this is linear. ages may or may not fluctuate.
1. If I Ever Saw A Girl

He's sitting on his porch tossing a baseball around in his old, weathered glove when he first sees her.

She's stepping out of her parents' yellowed station wagon, which is filled to the brim with boxes and lamps and quilts, and the only thing he can think is that she has to have the shiniest hair he's ever seen. It's long and dark, falling down her back in one tight braid, secured at the end with a rubber band, and offset by a pink headband at the crown of her head. She's wearing a pair of denim short overalls, exposing legs that remind him of the coffee his mother pours every morning when she's sending him off to school, and the yellow tank she has tucked inside reveals smooth, chubby arms. He watches her adjust red glasses propped on her face, pushing them up on her nose with the palm of her hand, before turning around to reach into the vehicle. After a moment, she turns back around, hand firmly clasped around a much smaller brown one. It's a little boy, no older than two or three, with hair just as shiny as hers but in a mass of curls all around his head.

"Looks like we got new neighbors."

He turns to see his mother standing in the doorway, wiping flour covered hands on her checkered apron. "Why don't you go see if they need any help? Go introduce yourself."

He shrugs, back to watching the girl help the little boy up the stairs before disappearing into her home.

"Nah, it looks like they got it."

"Excuse me?" She's giving him that look now, the one that says _my suggestion isn't actually a suggestion and it's also not debatable_, and he heaves a heavy sigh before dropping his baseball and glove and heading over. He reaches the edge of her stoop right as she prepares to come down and he runs a hand through his hair. She spots him and pauses at the top.

"Hi."

Her voice reminds him of Saturday morning cartoons.

"Hey," he replies, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

She's smirking at him now, still standing at the top of the porch. "Did you need something?" she asks, leaning on the rail.

"Uh, no. I- I mean, I guess." He's nervous looking at her and he doesn't understand why. She's just some chubby brown girl that's moving in next door to him. There are plenty of other girls on their block. Of course, they're all older and in high school, but they're there. This isn't his first time talking to a girl his age.

It's not.

He clears his throat, rocking back in ratty old high top Converse. "I mean, my Ma told me to come over and see if you guys needed any help. I live next door."

She's about to speak when her mother appears behind her. She's all bright colors too- pink cropped pants, floral top- and a wide grin.

"Oh, look at you, Mindy! Already making friends!"

So her name is Mindy.

He likes it.

Not her of course. He just met her, for crying out loud. And yeah, he may have just spent the last fifteen minutes staring at her from the stairs of his house, but not because he likes her. He's... _he's taking notes_, is what it is. Making observations, making sure they're not like crazy or something like that. Trying to see if they have any weird items he should look out for, like an abundance of knives or cages but no dogs.

Definitely.

"Hello?" She's waving her hand in his face now, glitter covered nails sparkling in front of his eyes. "Did you hear me?"

"What?"

"I said, what's your name?"

"Oh. Uh- Danny."

She's flashing him a smile now and before he knows it, she's grabbing his hand and dragging him towards the car. "Well '_Uh Danny'_, you can help me carry stuff to my room," she says. She releases his hand to grab a rather large box from the back and he notes that his palm is tingling.

He wipes it down the front of his pants.

"Here." She drops the box into his arms. It's heavy.

"Aren't you going to grab something?" he musters.

She grabs a backpack out and slips it onto her shoulders. "I've got this," she smiles, and then she's off back up the stairs.

"Come on, Danny!" she calls from inside.

He feels a small smile creep across his face before biting it back. _Get it together, Castellano._

And then he follows her.

* * *

"So how was next door?" his mother asks later that night. He's sitting at the kitchen table waiting for dinner.

He shrugs. "It was fine."

"Just fine?" she prods from her position at the stove.

Another shrug. "Yeah."

He hears her chuckle softly. He doesn't know what she's laughing about. It was _just fine_. Yeah, he may have spent the whole day over there- helping her hang up posters of guys he didn't know, arranging copious amounts on to her bookshelf, watching her pull out several dresses that she planned on wearing on the first day of school and asking his opinion, eating homemade cookies on her bed as she rambled on about nail polishes- but that didn't mean anything.

He was just being nice, like she told him to.

"Well, okay," she says lightly, stirring sauce on the burner. "Why don't you go get Richie and make sure you both get cleaned up. Dinner's almost ready."

He nods, scooting back in his chair and heading towards the room he shares with his younger sibling.

He misses his mother's knowing smile.


	2. Hits and Misses

It is not a rare occurrence to see Mindy Lahiri running through the halls of the Castellano household, nor is it peculiar to spot Danny Castellano walking through the front door of the Lahiri home. The routine is the same: Danny waiting for her by her locker after their last class, them taking the bus home together, often ending up somewhere between their two houses. Sometimes it's her room (door open of course- Mr. Lahiri is very adamant about that. Danny respects it.); and other times it's his living room, plopped in front of a television that hardly ever seems to be working no matter how many times they adjust the antenna.

To find them, one can usually just follow the trail of items they leave on the way to their prospective destinations: deserted, half unzipped backpacks; jackets thrown haphazardly over the backs of chairs; crumbs on empty plates that once housed sandwiches (crustless for Mindy, crunchy peanut butter for Danny). On this particular day, the path continues through the Castellano kitchen- past a young Richie with crayons and coloring sheets at the kitchen table and Maria Castellano folding laundry- out through the back door and down the stairs to the yard. There, Danny Castellano is teaching Mindy Lahiri how to hit a baseball.

"Bend your knees, Mindy."

"They are bent."

"No, bend 'em like... like you're about to sit in a chair."

"Danny, my knees are bent. If I bend them any more I'm gonna be sitting on the ground."

Danny sighs, moving from his position by the stairs and trotting up to her. "Bend your knees like this," he says, bending his own as a demonstration. Mindy rolls her eyes. "I'm doing that," she replies, lowering the rugged Louisville slugger she has housed between her palms. "Ugh. Why don't you just do it for me?"

"Because you have to do it by yourself."

"Why?" she whines.

"So we can play baseball together. Get outside and get some fresh air."

She snickers at this. "You sound like an old man. Heh. Old Man Castellano."

It's his turn to roll his eyes. "Look, as much as I like hanging out with you, I don't wanna spend every day up in your room talking about how dreamy Rob Lowe is," he says as he walks back to the stairs.

When he turns to sit, he sees Mindy just standing there, staring at him.

"What?" he asks. "Do I have something on my face?" He wipes aimlessly across his cheek.

A soft smile is playing across her face and it throws him for just a moment.

"I like hanging out with you too," she says simply.

Then she's looking at him with a look he often catches gracing her face- that hopeful one. He's seen it a buncha times, like when he saves her a spot during lunchtime or when he's sliding her a pencil in math class because she always forgets to bring one, having brought sparkly pens instead.

A warmth spreads across his chest.

He clears his throat.

"Alright, alright," he shrugs, "don't go getting all sappy on me, Lahiri."

She smirks, lifting the bat back up in her hands and bending her knees just like he taught her. He chuckles.

"That's it," he encourages from his spot on the stairs. "Now all you gotta do is hit the ball."

"Okay," she chirps, tightening her grip on the bat.

"And don't close your eyes this time, okay?"

"Ugh, I'm not going to close my eyes, Danny."

He picks up his glove and slides it on, spinning the ball around in the cracked palm before rearing back and throwing it towards Mindy.

And she definitely doesn't close her eyes when the ball connects, splitting through air at high speed.

In fact, they're the opposite of closed when it smashes through his kitchen window, shattering glass everywhere.

His mother's shrill voice is immediate. "**Daniel Antony Castellano!**_**That's the third window this month!**_"

He looks to Mindy, who's standing in the middle of the yard, bat discarded, mouth agape and eyes wide. He's shocked too, but also he's really happy. "Hey, at least you hit it this time!" he laughs, looking back towards the window.

* * *

It'll be years later when he's sitting down to dinner with Mindy and their two sons that he tells his Ma that it was actually his wife who sent the baseball flying into the kitchen.


	3. Don't You Worry 'Bout A Thing

Mindy Lahiri's parents never let her stay out late.

No matter how much she begs and pleads, no matter how logical all of her arguments are (to her), no matter how much allowance she offers to forgo, Avu and Swati Lahiri always say the same thing:

"When you're older."

_When you're older. When you're older._ How old is older? Like when she's twelve thousand and six? When she's a ghost floating around on Earth like a little Indian Casper child? She _is_ older. She's 14, for crying out loud. She's already one of like three girls in her homeroom in a B cup and on top of that, one time when she was at her friend Jenny's house, Jenny's older sister Maggie let them watch a rated R movie and she saw a guy full frontal. (She immediately went home after that, because despite the nudity, the movie was just poorly written.)

Not only is she older, she's _experienced_.

So it's absolutely beyond her why when she asks to get an hour extension on her curfew, they say no.

"Why?" she inquires one Saturday afternoon, standing in the office that both of her parents share.

"Yes, it's the second to last letter of the alphabet, Mindy," her father chuckles over a blueprint. She groans. "Dad, that joke isn't funny."

"Oh, it's a little funny, isn't it, honey?" he tosses over his shoulder to his wife, who's tucked in the corner reading one of her many medical journals. Her mother just smiles and flips a page, which only serves to irritate her more.

_Do they think this is a game?_

They're acting like this isn't one of the single most important events of her entire high school career. As if it's not _monumentaaaaaaaallllll _that Keith Flanagan-a _sophomore_, thank you very much- has invited her -a freshman- to his birthday party.

Okay. So he didn't exactly invite her. He actually invited her friend Stacy but she was _totally _standing next to Stacy when he gave her the invitation and she's like 92% sure he winked at her afterward but didn't say anything because he was probably like... blinded by her exquisite beauty or something. Anyway, he's turning 16, and knowing Keith Flanagan and how rich he is (his dad owns a yacht. Like, _an actual yacht. __Helloooo._) his birthday party will probably be bigger than the MTV Video Music Awards. This is not just huge: it's historic. She'll be damned if she's not at that party tonight in that yellow sunflower sundress she spent two months' allowance on.

She huffs, pressing on. "You guys, I'm serious. I'm 14 now. If we were in like a foreign country- if we were back in India, I'd be off and married by now! I'd be knocked up and you'd be one goat richer!"

"Oh Mindy, please don't be so dramatic," her mother responds without a glance up from her journal. "You're worth at least two goats and several very delicious mangoes."

This elicits a laugh from her father and an eye roll from her.

"Of course, please laugh at my pain," she gesticulates, "that's just great." She folds her arms in front of her and leans against the doorframe. "You guys never let me do anything fun."

"We let you do plenty of fun things," her father responds, untucking his pencil from behind his ear. "Just last week we let you go to the mall, where I know you spent at least two months' allowance on that yellow sundress."

_What the...how does he...?_

Ugh.

She groans again. "That's only because I went with Danny and Richie and Ms. Castellano."

"See? And you had a great time."

"And what did you do on Tuesday?" her mother says, peering up at her over the rim of her black reading glasses, "You went to that ice cream parlor with Danny, did you not?"

Oh please, she'd hardly qualify that as a fun time. The ice cream was delicious yes, but all Danny did was spend all of his money putting quarters in the jukebox playing the same song by some guy named Bill Springer or something.

Wait a minute.

Danny.

Danny was at all of those places.

She doesn't know why she didn't think of it earlier.

"What if Danny went with me? Would you guys let me go then?"

She runs her eyes over both of her parents' faces, waiting. They consider.

Her mother simply laughs, closing her journal. "You know what? If you can somehow convince Danny to go with you, we will let you go to this... Keith Flanagan's party."

She yelps. She actually yelps.

"Thank you thank you thank you, you guys are the coolest parents ever!" she screams, dropping kisses on her mother's face before running over to hug her father around the waist.

"But you have to be back by 10:30!" she hears her mother call after her. She's already out the front door on her way to Danny's house though. This will be easy squeezy.

* * *

This is absolutely not easy squeezy.

This is the exact opposite of easy squeezy.

"Danny, you have to go!"

She's standing in the middle of his kitchen in this moment, palms pressed hard onto the table where he sits doing the English homework she would be doing if she wasn't in the midst of the world's biggest crisis. (Yes, she understands that there are children out there with much more major problems than attending Keith Flanagan's 16th birthday party. Her thought still stands.)

"Mindy, I already told you. I can't," he says from the table, head buried in the essay he's writing. "You know I watch Richie on Saturday nights when Ma picks up extra shifts."

"Bring Richie with you! Kids love parties!"

He glares at her then, dropping his writing hand to the table.

"I think you have a deep misunderstanding of what it means to actually watch a child."

"Oh please, I watch Rishi all of the time."

"It doesn't count if your mom or dad is still in the house with you."

She sighs deeply, rounding the table. She drops to her knees by his side. "Danny please, I am literally begging you right now," she pleads, hands clasped together in front of her in the most dramatic of fashions, "please please please please please _**please**_ go to this party with me. You can drop Richie off at my house and my parents will watch him. Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease."

This earns her an eye roll. Rude. She's channeling her best Meg Ryan abilities right now.

"Why do you even want to go to Keith Flanagan's anyway?" he says, going back to his essay, "wasn't he rude to you that one time?"

"Ugh," she huffs, standing up and wiping off her knees, "if you're referring to that one time I tripped over his feet in the lunchroom-"

"I'm pretty sure he stuck his foot out but okay-"

"I've already gotten over that. Life is about moving forward, Danny." She plops down in the chair next to him.

"Like moving forward over his foot heading towards the ground and landing face first in your mashed potatoes?"

He's not looking at her but she can see the smirk spreading across his dumb, smug face. She balls up a piece of paper and throws it at him.

"How dare you."

He laughs, setting his homework to the side. "Look, even if I say yes, what's in it for me? I don't even like Keith Flanagan."

"That's a lie, everybody loves Keith Flanagan."

"Not me. He's such a tool. No one person should use that much product in their hair. Who does he think he is, Jeff Goldblum? No way."

"Danny," she smiles reaching out to grab his always sweaty hand, "one, ew- your hand is super gross right now- and two, _please_. Please, please, please, please go to this party with me. I'll have so much more fun if you're there with me. Please."

How can he ignore her sweet face?

He better not ignore her sweet face or she'll just bop him.

After a moment (a way too long moment, she thinks, but she digresses) he speaks.

"Is Stacy Watson going to be there?"

What? What does that have to do with anything?

"Probably?" she shrugs.

"Okay."

"Okay what?"

"I'll go."

"You'll go?!"

She doesn't hear his next response because she's too busy leaping out of her chair, rushing over to hug him.

"Danny Castellano, I don't care what anyone says, you're the coolest guy ever, despite your weird curly hair."

"Wait what? What do people say about my hair?"

One battle at a time, Lahiri.

* * *

Notes: As I stated, sometimes their ages fluctuate depending on the drabble. None of the drabbles are connected unless I intend for them to be. In this particular drabble, Mindy is 14 & Danny is 15. =)


End file.
